


are we here already

by bestliars



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Minnesota Wild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-25 11:15:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6192856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bestliars/pseuds/bestliars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’re in Columbus for the last day of the longest road trip of the year, and it is exhausting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	are we here already

The last day of the road trip is a long day. It’s a hard day. It might help if Mikke didn’t make everything about himself, but he isn’t sure how. He’s tired. It’s been a long trip, the longest of the year. They’re playing Columbus tonight, once last thing to get through before heading home.

Morning skate is fine. Boring. He doesn’t like Columbus, or have enough evidence to dislike it. He’ll dislike it just because, until a better reason comes along.

They go back to the hotel to watch the WJC gold medal game — Finland vs Russia. There aren’t any Russians on the Wild, which might be a good thing today, as there are plenty of Finns. Mikko, always a captain, rounds up his young countrymen and whoever else wants to watch.

Nino sits on the floor, leaning against Mikke’s knees, only invested because Mikke cares. Switzerland didn’t make it to the medal round, but no one expected them to. Caring takes a lot of work. Mikke wouldn’t say he’s very good at it exactly, but he does care about Finland winning hockey games.

Russia scores the first goal. And the second.

Watching this game makes him feel old, which he isn’t, not really. He’s twenty-three, and still figuring things out. He’s only beginning to enter his prime. Mikko is old, he isn’t. It’s just — if these kids are the future of Finnish hockey, then what is he?

He remembers the Olympics. He started the tournament on Sasha’s wing. He was twenty-one. Sasha was eighteen. The third person their line was Teemu Selanne, one of his childhood heroes, and older than Sasha and him put together. 

It was chance that put Sasha and him into starring roles. Normally there would have been more veterans, but Mikko was hurt, and Filppula was hurt, and Saku said he was too old and turned down the invitation. Mikke had done everything he could to seize that opportunity. He had an impressive tournament, and is proud of what he did. If only he could be as impressive now as he was then. It’s very difficult. He’s trying. 

He is, he supposes, the present of Finnish hockey. That isn’t a terrible thing to be, but it’s strange to realize that’s where he is. He has arrived at what had seemed like a far off future.

Maybe in two years, in Pyeongchang, they will want him to center Jesse Puljujärvi and Patrik Laine. Maybe he will get asked to be the reliable veteran. He doesn’t know if he would be any good at that. These kids are talented — he’s impressed, watching as they score twice to tie it up.

Rantanen gets what should be the winner. There are two minutes left. They should be safe. Victory should come next. He is so proud, of his nation, of these young men who are playing well and battling hard. He has been in their position, he knows how hard it is to win.

There are six seconds left when Russia scores. It’s tied again. Three-three.

They shouldn’t watch overtime. It’s time to rest and get ready for their own game. Mikke does not want to turn off the television. No one does. Mikko believes in responsibility and leadership. He also believes in watching Finland play hockey, in watching the little lions finish a game they should win. He won’t send them off to bed with the game undecided, even if Mikke might have followed such an order. They’re going to stay until the very end.

Thankfully, it’s over soon enough. Kasperi Kapanen scores a beautiful wraparound goal. Someone should put that goal on a stamp.

Mikke doesn’t move, or say anything. He just stares, watching as they replay the goal, as the celebrations unfold. 

Nino puts his hand on Mikke’s knee, looks up at him, grinning. “Pretty good, yeah?”

“They shouldn’t have needed to make it so dramatic, but yeah. It was fun.” Nino’s hand is warm and heavy. Mikke thinks they would have stayed like that if Eric hadn’t gotten up and jostled them. People are starting to leave, the party breaking up.

Mikko’s loud, happy. He doesn’t get worked up for much, but hockey and patriotism are an exception. “I knew they had it in them,” he tells Backs, who nods in agreement. 

Mikko is old enough to have have played with Kasperi’s father on the national team. Backs is even older. Mikke played against Sami Kapanen in Finland, at the end of his career, and the beginning of Mikke’s own.

The broadcast cuts away from the celebration on the ice to a box where the president is standing with Teemu and Saku. They’re all old men, but they look nearly as excited as the teenagers down below.

Someday Mikke will be an old man like that. He will be too old to play, but he’ll still be rooting for this team. Always.

Teemu and Saku are old enough to be these kids dads — old enough to be his own father, though Teemu said he wasn’t allowed to say that. He wonders where he’ll be watching from in twenty years. He can't imagine watching a game sitting next to the president. It would be so awkward. He’d feel like he wasn’t allowed to swear or react honestly. It will be a different president in twenty years, but still. He could have a kid in the game twenty years from now, though he doubts that. He’d have to get started on that fairly soon, and that makes no sense with where his life is now.

 

 

After such an exciting end to the game it’s hardly surprising that he has a hard time falling asleep. He’s restless trying to nap.

He feels bad about how last night Nino was supposed to get dinner with Ryan Johansen — “Joey” — but canceled his plans at the last minute. Nino could have gotten together with a former teammate who he never gets to see, someone he misses and only plays against twice a year. Instead he stayed in with Mikke. They ordered room service and had sex, which is something they do all the time. The only difference is that at home they order takeout, and have a nicer bed.

Mikke should feel guilty for derailing Nino’s plans. He really doesn’t.

Nino’s someone who makes friends, and keeps them. Mikke isn’t so much. He thinks he could be, if he tried, but he's always had better things to do with his time. 

Mikke isn’t sure what he thinks of Ryan Johansen. If Nino thinks he’s worthy of friendship then maybe he is. Nino is mostly a fair judge of character; saying otherwise would only be insulting himself. 

Mikke isn’t sure, but Nino and Johansen maybe used to hook up. He hasn’t asked, and Nino hasn't said so, but it seems true. It seems like they were something more than simple friends. Johanssen is someone that Nino cares about who isn’t him. Someone from the before, who feels like a threat to what they have here. 

He shouldn’t let this get to him, but it’s hard. Especially right now, with all the trade rumors.

Johansen wants out of Columbus. That is a known fact. That relationship has been breaking for awhile. 

And apparently people think the Wild need a top line center, which is a lot of bullshit. They have him. And when he isn’t good enough, they have Mikko. That should be enough. They can do this. He can do this. He definitely can. The idea of him, or Brods, or anyone, going to Columbus for Ryan Johansen is just such a load of bullshit.

Nino would probably like playing with Johanssen again. They were good together in juniors. Nino and Mikke haven’t played on the same line for a while now, but they’re supposed to tonight.

Speculation, guilt, the absence of guilt, and a general sense of dread about the future swirl around in his head, slowly giving way to sleep. An hour and a half after they first laid down he’s jolted out of a bad dream by the alarm.

He can’t move. Nino is draped over his back. He feels held. There’s a balance between being trapped and being kept safe. He’s not sure which side this falls under. He’ll let himself enjoy it while it lasts, only for a second until Nino rolls away to turn off the alarm.

The day goes on. They have a game to play.

This game — damn it.

Mikko gets hurt ninety seconds in. Mikke doesn’t see the hit, just that he’s slow getting back to the bench. Once he’s back on the bench though, it seems like he’s fine. He says he’s alright, but Mikke knows how easy that lie can be. He doesn’t have to believe it, but he wants to. Time will tell. The evening is just beginning. There’s nothing to say that Mikko won’t play a great game anyway, hockey’s weird like that.

Or well, nothing to say until he starts spitting up blood and the trainers make him leave.

Spitting up blood could be so many different things. It could be so many different terrible things that Mikke can’t begin to understand. Or it could be nothing.

There’s still a game to play, but now they’re down a center, missing their captain. It’s going to be even harder now. They can still do it. Mikke believes in them, or at least he’s too stubborn to give up. He is not going to let them lose this game to Ryan Johannesen. He can be this petty when he sets his mind to it.

There’s a delayed penalty at the end of the period, and he sets Zach up to score the first goal of the game. Columbus challenges that they were offsides, and there’s a long review, but he _wasn’t_ offside. He knows it. The replay shows it, decently clear. He made one extra move at the line, but he was still onside, he’s postive. Zach goes over to confer with the ref, acting as captain with Mikko out. It’s his goal they’re trying to take away. In the end they get the call right, and it’s a good goal.

At intermission they get told that Mikko is being taken to the hospital, which is terrifying. It’s precautionary, but still. Mikke knows what they do is dangerous. He’s been hurt, and seen other people get hurt, but it’s still scary. Mikko wouldn’t let them take him to the hospital unless he thought it could be serious. He’s that stubborn, and that in charge. If he agreed to the hospital then maybe it could be bad.

With Mikko gone for the rest of the game, and maybe longer, he’s going to have to step up. They’re going to need him to be the first line center, to handle tough competition and win faceoffs.

Columbus scores early in the period, tying the game. Later on they’re playing 4-on-4, and he makes another beautiful pass for Zach to score a beautiful goal. He knows it’s good looking pass. If he did things like this every night, and had it work every night, then there wouldn’t be any talk about the Wild needing a top line center. Or, there still would still be talk — there would still be people saying they need someone big and mean. But a lot of the hate would quiet down if he could do this always. 

He can do it for the rest of tonight anyway. He has to with Mikko out. He’s trying. He’s lucky it works.

There are times in the game where his line is matched against Johansen's. He wins a few face offs, loses a few faceoffs, and gets thrown out of one. Nino takes the draw against his old friend, and wins it with a smile. Nino isn't even a center. Mikke is too far away to hear what gets said.

He’s watching as Zach scores an empty net goal to complete the hat trick. It isn’t as fun on the road, without their fans to throw things on the ice, but it’s still special. It puts them up 3-1.

Columbus comes back and scores again. There are sixteen seconds left, but their lead isn’t as comfortable as it had been. It isn’t over until it’s over. The gold medal game earlier reminded him of that.

He’s out there for the next faceoff at center ice, him and Johansen. Normally Mikko would be out in a situation like this, but they’re counting on him. He doesn’t like Johansen at all. They’ve been chirping all night, but lightly, only normal hockey things.

This is different. Johansen leans in close. “You know, me and Nino, it’s all in the past. He’s got a future with you.”

That’s uncomfortably personal. Mikke assumes it’s meant to fuck up his game, and make him lose the draw, but he won’t. He’s not going to let it get to him. He has a plan, to win it over to Zach, and try to get him a fourth goal, because chances like that don’t come around often. He won’t let Johansen throw him off.

Instead something strange happens. Johansen hardly tries to go for the puck. Mikke doesn’t know if he fucked up, or if he was confused, but he goes past Mikke, gets out of the way, leaving the puck right where it fell. There’s nothing between Mikke and the empty net. It’s the easiest goal he’s ever scored.

He’s proud of himself. He’s almost content with the world, before he remembers what Johansen had said, before he remembers that Mikko is at the hospital, and that at twenty-three he is no longer the bright future of Finnish hockey. There are two many things he doesn’t understand, and too many things he is unsure of. It was a good goal though. He did the right thing here, to put the puck in the net.

He is what he is. This is his life, and sometimes he struggles, but he doesn’t know what he’d change. He’s trying. There are a lot of things he loves about his life. Maybe he doesn’t need to understand it all; maybe he doesn’t need to understand any of it.

He skates back the bench knowing that they’ve won. There are fourteen seconds left, and they have a two goal lead. Anything could happen, today has shown that, but it feels safe. He sits next to Nino and watches as time runs out. They did it. Now it’s over, and they can go home at last.

There’s good news waiting when they get off the ice: Mikko has been discharged from the hospital, and will be flying home with them. That’s all anyone’s saying so far, but that’s good, that means it isn’t the worst it could be. The rest of it will get figured out, but at least Mikko will be with them on the plane back to Minnesota.

 

 

Mikko meets the team at the airport, and when they board the plane Mikke takes the seat next to the captain, even though that isn’t where he usually sits. Mikko doesn’t say anything, silently accepting the arrangement with a nod. This is fine. Mikko will be fine.

Up in the air they talk, quietly, in Finnish. Mikke’s tired, and appreciates that he doesn’t have to translate his thoughts into a different language. Mikko says he’s fine, that it was just a precaution. It was responsible for him to get checked out, but he could have kept playing. He’s sore, but not hurt. He’ll be ready for the next game.

Mikke doesn’t know what’s true, but it’s reassuring to hear Mikko say these things. He is willing to believe this because it makes him feel better.

He tells Mikko about the game, bragging about his passing, complementing Zach’s goals. He tries to explain his own goal, but isn’t sure how effective his storytelling is.

“I really didn’t expect to score there. The way he tried to win the faceoff was… Not good.” It didn’t work, and wasn’t anything Mikke would try and expect to work, not unless he didn’t think much of the other centerman’s skills. 

“Johansen said something right before my goal.”

“Yeah?” Mikko asks, giving him a chance to elaborate, or to shrug it off and say nothing.

“Yeah. It was odd.” It isn’t like Johansen knows him. Nino’s probably right, that he’s a good guy, but Mikke doesn’t know that. Mikke doesn’t want to know him, doesn’t want to like him.

There’s a disconnect between the reality of this, and what Nino and him have made, which is all their own, away from the rest of the world. He likes them to exist independently like this, away from Portland, away from Bridgeport, away from Houston, away from being the future of Finnish hockey. It’s just the two of them in Minnesota, finding their way together.

“He was just saying bullshit,” Mikke says, deciding that’s all it was. Mikke isn’t interested in what Johansen has to say about them. Even if he was trying to give his blessing, Mikke doesn’t care, that isn’t something they need.

He has to take his shot when it’s presented, not get caught up in things that are out of his control. Too many things feel out of his control. Too many things feel unfixable. He can only ignore them, and try to not let it fuck him up. He can’t let it get in the way of the good things in his life, playing with his line, talking to his captain, everything with Nino.

“I still can’t get over how the gold medal game ended,” Mikke says, half to change the subject, half because it’s true. It’s amazing how they came from behind, took the lead, lost the lead, and then won in overtime. It still seems like a storybook ending, even though Mikke watched it happen in real time. He’d rather talk about hockey than any of his problems. Or well, hockey is one of his problems, so to be precise: he’d rather talk about hockey games that happened thousands of miles of away than any of his problems.

Mikko would rather talk about hockey too. He gets animated talking about the match, relishing in the drama and the joy. They have a lot of stories about watching and playing on the national team. Mikko remembers watching his brother playing in the tournament as a child. They do the math, and realize that was the year after Mikke was born, so there is no way he could remember it. He remembers when Mikko played in the WJC. He remembers watching both Koivus at the Olympics and different World Championships over the years. He got to know Mikko playing on the national team. 

That was almost five years ago. He was only nineteen, still eligible to play on the U20 the next year. He was used to playing against men, but not like this. He was by far the youngest player on a team full of NHL and KHLers. Mikko was the captain, intimidating at first, but kind. Mikke became comfortable with that team, and showed that he could play exceptionally at that level. They brought home gold, kicking off the most amazing party of Mikke’s life so far. By the end of the summer Mikko was a friend, and someone Mikke was looking forward to playing with again in Minnesota. When the Wild drafted him the summer before he didn’t know much about the team, but he knew they had Mikko Koivu, which was something to get excited about.

Growing up his team to cheer for was always Montreal. Mikke never had a chance to play on a team with Saku, but he wishes he could have. Getting to play with a childhood hero is always special, and Mikke’s had that chance because of the Finnish national team. 

It’s something big. Mikke was raised to want this, raised watching this team, imagining himself getting to where that jersey. It’s a tradition he’s proud to be a part of.

There will always be a future coming up. The only thing to do is accept it. He can try to be good for the future, to inspire it, guide it, show a way forward, like what Mikko has done for him.

“I’ve been thinking about the Johansen rumors,” Mikke confesses. “I know I shouldn’t, but…”

He’s tried hard to ignore it, to pretend it isn’t getting to him. He’s put up a good show of not caring. It feels cleansing to finally tell Mikko the truth.

“Don’t listen to anything anyone has to say,” Mikko says.

Mikke takes a deep breath, exhales. He knows that was the smart thing to do, but it helps to hear it from someone else.

“The best thing for you to do is believe that it’s going to work out, instead of waiting for something to crack.”

Mikke nods. That’s good advice. He has to see the world as solid if he wants to build anything. He can’t get caught up in the fragility of the situation, just like he can’t worry too much about his own fragility on the ice. He’s small but has to play physical and dogged to be effective.

They talk a bit more, but mostly they sit in the quiet. Mikko is very skilled at quiet. Mikke has more than enough thoughts to keep him occupied until they land in Minnesota. They disembark the plane, and everyone’s bags get sorted. From here people are going to their own apartments and houses, not another hotel. There’s no time to pause, another game the day after tomorrow, but at least they’re home now.

“You ready to go?” Nino asks. They drove to the airport together at the start of the trip, what feels like a long time ago.

Mikke nods. “Been ready.”

Nino smiles at him. His eyes look tired, but happy. Mikke’s tired, but happy. He doesn’t say anything about how Nino’s hand rests on his knee at red lights. He doesn’t say anything about how Nino leans against him in the elevator upstairs. He doesn’t have to say anything at all, but he says goodnight when Nino turns off the light, and he mumbles something back when Nino says, “I love you.”

It feels right to fall asleep in their own bed, in a way the past week hasn’t. Perhaps he has spent too much time picking over past and wondering about the future, when instead he could concentrate on the rightness of the now. When he doesn’t think too much he’s happy. When he closes his eyes and forgets everything outside of this moment — the smell of their sheets, Nino’s warmth, Nino’s breathing — there’s no place he’d rather be.

**Author's Note:**

> http://www.sbnation.com/nhl/2016/1/5/10721092/mikael-granlund-scored-empty-net-goal-off-faceoff-like-a-boss  
> http://wild.nhl.com/gamecenter/en/recap?id=2015020593
> 
> Thanks to Oanja and Stellarer for looking at this.


End file.
